


One More Night

by PoorUnfortunateSoul



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bipolar Bokuto, Bipolar Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorUnfortunateSoul/pseuds/PoorUnfortunateSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi stares at the ceiling, wondering how he got here. Well, no, that’s a lie; Akaashi knows exactly how he got here, in bed, with a naked and sleeping Bokuto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Night

Akaashi stares at the ceiling, wondering how he got here. Well, no, that’s a lie; Akaashi knows exactly how he got here, in bed, with a naked and sleeping Bokuto.

 

     What he doesn’t know, though, is how he got into the mindset that _let_ him get here. He’s backtracked it in his mind at least ten times now, and he’s still coming up empty handed.

 

     Bokuto was in one of his depressive lows. Akaashi knew that from the hunched shoulders, eye-contact avoidance, and, most importantly, he’d been leveled out for a month.

 

     For a whole month Bokuto was neither in a depressive low or a manic high. He was _happy_ , but he wasn’t taking stupid risks because he felt like he was invincible.

 

     It was nice, to see his friend like that, but those moods never last long. Bokuto started seeing someone when he was fourteen, long before he legally had much say in his recovery, and his mother decided not to put him on medication because it can become addictive.

 

     In hindsight, Akaashi understands where she was coming from. Still, it would be nice to see his friend experience less extreme emotions more than the few-off times that he gets currently.

 

     Anyways, Akaashi always knew that Bokuto would crash and burn eventually; he always does.

 

Watching him come out of a manic high is hard. Hearing him praise himself like a God is always slightly annoying. (Though, Akaashi will admit that the way Bokuto praises him along with those comments makes his insides feel like liquid gold – like he really is worth as much as Bokuto thinks.) Despite that, he’ll always take the annoyance over the alternative. 

 

The alternative being a new breed of insecurity that’s bone deep, that makes him sneer at his refection in disgust while brushing his teeth. He still praises Akaashi in these moments, thought he uses them as a way to bring himself down, to compare himself to someone that he views as having more importance than him. Those kinds of compliments make Akaashi’s insides feel more like dirt than liquid gold.

 

Seeing him come down from a balanced state is complete Hell. When they last a week, Bokuto clings to them like a dying sinner clings to last minute belief. When they last two or three, Bokuto is elated. A month, and he tricks himself into thinking that he’s cured.

 

Akaashi knows that’s what made this one so hard to come down from. Bokuto hadn’t been balanced out since his first year of high school, and when it suddenly came around again, he was fueled with a new hope.

 

Now eighteen, he’d allowed himself to be put on medication, and got a new psychiatrist to prescribe them, and a new physiologist to listen to him. (Bokuto has had to describe the difference between the two to Akaashi multiple times, but he still doesn’t think he gets it.) Bokuto thought all the new changes meant that he was going to be perfectly fine.

 

It’s not like it was a long-shot; Akaashi doesn’t know a lot about what’s going on in Bokuto’s head, but he does know that, for some people, mental illnesses can be fixed with the proper medication and support system. For some people, it clears up completely.

 

Bokuto thought he was one of those people, and when he came crashing down and discovered that he wasn’t there yet, it ground him into dust.

 

The face he made when he came to school – the face that Akaashi just wanted him to _stop making_ – is what got him here. Like most people, Bokuto sought comfort from his best friend. Like some people, Akaashi didn’t really know how to give it.

 

A pep talk didn’t seem like enough, and besides, Bokuto got those enough from his physiologist. Akaashi knows damn well that Bokuto doesn’t believe a single word of them.

 

A hug was like inviting him to cry all over Akaashi’s shoulder. At least, it is when it’s Bokuto. Akaashi didn’t think he’d be able to hear that heart wrenching noise from someone that deserves nothing more than to be happy at all times.  

 

He isn’t sure how that all equated to him giving his virginity up to the owl boy next to him, but somehow, it did.

 

Akaashi remembers a party thrown to celebrate a very hard win. He remembers scowling at the alcohol until it was thrust into his face with a loud and demanding, “Come on, Akaashi, live a little!”

 

He remembers drinking a lot after that, and stumbling into Bokuto in the living-room. He remembers giggling drunkenly at him, while questioning Bokuto’s current drunken state.

 

He remembers the flashing lights from a lone strobe light that someone brought as a joke, and he remembers roughly kissing Bokuto.

 

With a hand gripped tightly around his heart, he remembers Bokuto whispering, “Just one night, okay? Just to make me feel better,” against his lips.

 

Akaashi’s head fills like it’s stuffed with cotton, but being weighed down with lead. He ignores it, dresses and exits the bedroom before Bokuto can stir. 

 

He simultaneously feels lethargic and ebullient, disappointed and elated. His chest feels warm, but his head feels cold.

 

He knows his chest will catch up eventually, when his brain stops spinning from all the alcohol and sends signals of logic to his heart, but for now he can pretend that they made love instead of Bokuto using him as a quick fuck.

 

\----

     Akaashi expects things between him and Bokuto to be strained afterwards. They are, but all the tension is in his own head; he chastises himself for it, because _of course_ things wouldn’t be weird. He’s the only one that the ‘one time only’ deal is affecting.

 

     Luckily, he doesn’t have much time to think about it, because the churching thoughts are halted and replaced with worry. Bokuto slaps his back as he passes, and Akaashi knows right away from the strength behind it that something is wrong; Bokuto swung right from a depressive low to a manic high.

 

     Akaashi keeps a close eye on him all through practice. Bokuto compliments him a few times, but they just make him feel sick. Every-time Bokuto swings so extremely in such a short amount of time, something bad _always_ happens.

 

     Unfortunately, Akaashi can’t keep an eye on him at all times. It wasn’t from lack of trying; Akaashi walks him home and tries to stay, but Bokuto waves his worries off, telling him that he has nothing to even be worrying about. 

 

     Akaashi wishes he can believe him, and a part of him does, until he shows up around midnight with a bloody nose and bruised torso.

 

     “What did you do this time?” Akaashi asks, trying to keep voice to sound natural as he wipes at the blood on Bokuto’s forehead.

 

     The blood doesn’t appear to have a source, and Aksaashi winces as he realizes the blood doesn’t belong to Bokuto.

 

The boy in question grins at him, and the blood from his nose slides into his mouth, wrapping around his teeth and making him look like a predatory animal. Akaashi shivers.  

 

     “Isn’t it obvious? I got my ass beat,” he says.

 

     He says it like he’s proud of the broken skin on his knuckles, and Akaashi’s stomach drops.

 

     “Why?” he asks, rubbing the creamy medicine into Bokuto’s knuckles.

 

     Bokuto swipes his tongue along his teeth, clearing them of the blood. He swallows with a grimace, never quite getting used to the metallic taste.

 

     “I was talking big again, with Kuroo, and someone heard us. Kuroo got it worse than I did. Kenma is going to kill me.”

 

     Akaashi nods, and doesn’t say anything else while he patches Bokuto up. It’s the same story every time; Bokuto boasts in some sort of way, and it pisses someone off, and then they fight.

 

     It normally starts with cruel words, and probably wouldn’t escalate from there if Bokuto never takes the first the swing. But he does. When he’s in a manic high, he always does.

 

     Akaashi lowers Bokuto’s hand and he winces. Taken aback, Akaashi finally notices the swelling in Bokuto’s wrist.

 

     “I really messed up this time, Akaashi,” he whispers.

 

     Somehow, Akaashi knows that he’s not just talking about the damage done to his body. He’s also talking about the hope that he let himself have for the past couple of weeks, and the way he’s been dealing with it all.

 

     Akaashi doesn’t comment. He inspects the swollen area, trying to decide if it needs a doctor’s attention.

 

\----

     Sometimes owls eat other owls. They prey on smaller ones, and thrive off of the sustenance gained from devouring them.

 

     Akaashi knows this, and it’s the only thing he can think of as Bokuto pounds into him. He’s trying to make Akaashi feel as small as he does. It’s a horrible thing to think about your best friend, but Akaashi also knows that he’s not being unfair by saying it.

 

     It’s evident in the gentle backstrokes Bokuto gives him when they’re finished, sedated, lazy and nearly apologetic. That, paired with the look Bokuto gave him when he whispered, “This is just a one-time thing, I promise,” is enough evidence for Akaashi.

 

     He wonders if that means Bokuto doesn’t remember the last time they did this, the time that, now that he has time to dwell on it, makes Akaashi feel used; the time Bokuto took his virginity. Maybe Bokuto had been drunker than he originally thought.

 

     Eventually, the emotions from the night catch up to Bokuto, and he cries into Akaashi’s chest until he grows too tired to even move.

 

     “Akaashi,” he whispers around four in the morning, “how does it feel to not be mentally ill?”

 

     Akaashi’s hand, that had been massaging Bokuto’s scalp, freezes with the rest of him.

 

     How does it feel? It feels like fate and karma are bullshit, that if either of those existed, he would be the mess and Bokuto would be the reluctant medicine. Akaashi is a much worse person than Bokuto, and he knows that, is somewhat content with it.

 

     Bokuto doesn’t deserve any of it, and Akaashi can’t fix it, and he hates that he can’t; hates that he’s so incredibly and hopelessly in love with someone that only uses him as a short-term escape from his bi-polar disorder. Hates that the relief he brings is only ephemeral.

 

     But he doesn’t say any of that.

 

     Instead, he answers stoically with, “… Unfair.”

 

     Bokuto laughs into Akaashi’s chest like he’s lost his mind. Akaashi’s heart beats with the rhythmic sound.

 

\-----

     In the morning, Akaashi watches Bokuto pick his clothes up off of the floor and leave. His head chants _don’t go, don’t go, don’t go_ , but not once does he say it out loud.

 

     He lies in bed for two hours after Bokuto leaves, before pulling out his phone and texting Kenma.

 

     To: Kenma

     From: Akaashi

     Sent: 8:39 A.M.

     How do you deal with watching Kuroo leave after you have sex?

 

     From: Kenma

     To: Akaashi

     Received: 8:41A.M.

     I suppose it’s easier for, bc I don’t feel romantic feelings.

 

     From: Kenma

     To: Akaashi

     Received: 8:45 A.M.

     Y? Do u have feelings for Bokuto?

 

     To: Kenma

     From: Akaashi

     Sent: 8:51A.M.

     Yes.  

 

     From: Kenma

     To: Akaashi

     Received: 8:57 A.M.

     At least ur not in denial abt it. Tht mean u have more power over what u do w/ it.

 

     To: Knema

     From: Akaashi

     Sent: 9:01 A.M.

     I suppose. Thank you.

 

     From: Kenma

     To: Akaashi

     Received: 9:07 A.M.

     Welc.

     -

     Having more power over it, Akaashi decides, does not mean that anything is easier. He’s hyper-aware of everything now, from how long his gaze lingers on Bokuto’s face, to how he memorizes every detail he can while they’re having sex.

 

     Of all the things he’s done in his life, obsessing over another human being is the thing that makes him feel more pathetic than anything else. He’s not sure how to deal with that.

 

     Akaashi stares at the ceiling while Bokuto assumes their usual cuddle position: Akaashi’s legs between Bokuto’s thighs and his head on Akaashi’s chest.

 

     Akaashi absent-mindedly runs his fingers through his hair.

 

     “This is just a one time thing, okay?” Bokuto says quietly.

 

     Like always, the words twist Akaashi’s heart until it contorts itself into a ball. He almost feels silly for reacting to them this way.

 

     It’s fourteenth or fifteenth time ‘just one time’ has been whispered; the words don’t hold much meaning anymore. Still, Akaashi dreads the day that they _do_ mean something. Unless…

 

_At least you’re not in denial about it. That mean you have more power over what you do with it._

Akaashi holds his breath before letting out slowly.

 

     “You say that every time, but you never mean it.”

 

     Bokuto blinks up at him, surprised that he mentioned it. Akaashi knows that they had some sort of silent agreement, but Akaashi can’t help it; he’s tired of feeling like an emotional punching bag.

 

     He knows his swiftly declining self-esteem isn’t Bokuto’s fault at all; it’s his fault for never speaking up, for letting himself and his feelings get manipulated like this.

 

     It’s up to Akaashi to take care of himself, but he’s _scared._ Scared that if he doesn’t want to do this anymore, Bokuto will find someone else to relief himself of his sadness. Scared that that person will do better than Akaashi has ever managed to. Scared that Bokuto will never come back.

 

     Scared that _one more night_ really means _one_ more.

 

     “I’m sorry,” Bokuto murmurs, pulling himself away from Akaashi, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll leave.”

 

     “Wait, Bokuto, no,” Akaashi says, grasping Bokuto’s wrist. Bokuto looks at him in shock. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

     Akaashi lets go of his wrist and Bokuto crawls back onto the bed. Akaashi looks away from him.

 

     “Then what did you mean?” Bokuto asks softly.

 

     “I don’t know,” Akaashi says, “just, please. Don’t go.”

 

     “Akaashi… this was supposed to be a one time thing.”

 

     Akaashi sighs and stares at the ceiling. He _knows_ that damn it.

 

     “But it never actually _is_ one night, Bokuto.”

 

     “I told you I was sorry.”

 

     Akaashi sniffles and scrubs at his face.

 

     “ _Shit,_ are you crying?” Bokuto asks, moving closer.

 

     “I don’t _want_ you to be sorry that you had sex with me, Bokuto. I don’t want you to _regret_ me,” he sobs.

 

     Bokuto crawls on top of him and wipes his tears away with his thumb.

 

     “I don’t, Akaashi, I couldn’t. Akaashi, what do you want? You have to tell me, I can’t read your mind,” Bokuto tells him gently.

 

     “I don’t want you to go.”

 

     Bokuto nods.

 

     “Okay,” he murmurs, lovingly running his finger along Akaashi’s nose, “okay, I won’t. One more night.”

 

     Akaashi makes a pitiful noise from the back of his throat.

 

     “Or ever?” Bokuto tries again, sounding hopeful. “Akaash, do you like me?”

 

     Akaashi looks away and Bokuto grins, sliding his arms underneath Akaashi to hold him. He smothers his grin in Akaashi’s chest and squeezes him tightly.

 

     “There’s a reason one more night never meant one more night, you idiot.”

 

     Akaashi laughs and wipes at his eyes.

    

     “Don’t make fun of me, I’m emotionally unstable right now.”

 

     Bokuto hums and rests his cheek on Akaashi’s chest.

    

     “Well, stop it; that’s my job.”  

**Author's Note:**

> This was /supposed/ to be a sort angst relief fic for my sister after this Iwa-chan/Oikawa one I'm writing, but it turned into this instead and really it's not as lighthearted as it was supposed to be, and I'm not sure how that happened BUT here we are. 
> 
> Anyways, you can join her in yelling at on [Tumblr](http://xxpoorunfortunatesoulxx.tumblr.com/)


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